


Forerunner Chronicles: Remedium

by stellarstatelogic



Series: Forerunner Chronicles: Remedium [1]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Marriage Proposal, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarstatelogic/pseuds/stellarstatelogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All boundaries are conventions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. IsoDidact

Ten thousand years.

For ten thousand years, I have waited. I have planted a seed; from sprout to sapling, I watched it grow. It expanded its branches, twigs sprouting new greens, bark strengthens and roots deepens. It withers and rebirths in its abiding; its resilience proved through the growing pain of all living things to embrace the stars barely reachable by mortals. The tree eventually grew taller than I. Its blossoming was enchantingly livid and fleetingly beautiful.

Its fruit, I have expected.

 

* * *

 

Calyx insisted to initiate the validation of which I did not object; the Didact’s return was much expected as the outcome of the long chain of causalities in which I have started. I knew how the manipulation of karmic inferences was essentially abusing my privilege as a Lifeshaper in its most literal incantation. It must nevertheless be done in the first place – like all the old houses of my people, I am a slave to my own Mantle of Responsibilities when the key to our own liberation lies within none but a brand new soul. Thus I must forge the key from scrap out of nothingness, in the name of the countering Mantle of Possibilities known as the Living Time.

I have also expected it to counteract.

“How many years have this Lifeshaper reigned?” Asked Calyx beyond the door that was the only barrier between him and I. The conversation would be recorded; I insisted it to be recognized by the Domain despite my opposing bias towards the device. It was mandatory; I needed to keep records to validate the succession should anything would arise against my plans.

“Twenty-five thousand five-hundred and thirty-one,” replied the trembling voice of the newly-matured male in my husband’s natural impatience; “in Maethrillian years.”

“What was her name?”

“—Silent-Mist-of-Eternal-Memories,” the voice responded after a brief hesitance. “She was the daughter of our Second Lifeshaper. She gave the Didact her name on Charum Hakkor, where the Didact has given his to her, prior.”

“What is the Didact’s name?” Calyx finally asked. We both knew how the Didact would always prefer his title over his name – his name has been kept as an enigma for millennia and has become a thing that was only spoken between the archaic and within the Forerunner’s pinnacle. A Manipular couldn’t have known, he wouldn’t have allowed——

“His name – his name is Urim,” the voice bore another pause of grave heaviness just before the name of my husband’s was spoken like a chant of ancient Digon, the words of powerful Warriors:

“Urim–Enkindles–the Illustrious–Cosmos.”

I took a sharp, painful breath into my lungs. It felt cold, macabre, like the Winters of which the tree had to endure.

I have to endure.

 

* * *

 

I anticipated the child into my realm, who walked in his own gait, with steps obviously lighter and – youthful, to an extent. Through him, I saw the key I have intended to forge has come to existence and would grow in its own form. It was bittersweet, to know the End has begun, and how the stars would rattle anew at his wake. Behind him, Calyx and my colleagues stood at the threshold of our library where I was still at work with. The reunion was awkward, nearly abnormal. I knew Calyx would not approve of such, but I suppose neither of us could have prevented it. My husband knew what I am; it was a mutual knowledge. But the audacity of him performing similar succession by branding his own memories onto another being was a measure desperately ruthless – a clear blasphemy to my Creed. I would not have allowed it; I could not comprehend my husband’s selfishness. But from the atrocity, he has left me hope, which I could only accept it out of my own selfishness.

“So similar, so much alike.” I mused, and it was truth. I gazed towards his eyes – the eyes that still refused to meet mine, and saw a reflection of my own hollowness inside the blue of his irises. It was confusion and self-distraught. I recognized the apprehension that would lead to destruction without a guiding hand.

I must help him.

“I bring greetings from the Didact;” said the child.

“No,” I reprimanded; “bring me your own greetings, you are him.”

“I am merely–”

“You are him, now.” _–and ever will be_ , which I would have hoped. But I know I never deserved it. I will **never** deserve it.

That was when he reached towards me. The strength of his limbs was still frail yet unfaltering. Aya, I am once again in the embrace of my husband’s – of the way how he would overlap his arms around my back to secure me towards his chest. He always knew that I would find serenity to such gesture. It was odd, as the child did not match the Didact’s height, aya, he was even shorter than I. But his attempt to cove my head into his palm to pet over my mane was–

–Reassuringly _audacious_.

I looked towards Calyx and my colleagues, who were already leaving the confines to grace us with the much privileged privacy. They obviously could not spare the view of two old Forerunners reuniting by their essence. But I was grateful, knowing that time was precious and should refrain from being used for selfish purposes. Aya, by my own selfish wish – in the name of the Living Time and all its preceding Stewards, I would have gladly given away all the lifetimes I have had and will have in exchange for just one more second with my husband.

“But how can I be him and other?” Muttered the child in his own uncertainty while his face lingered on the comfort of my bosom.

I guided his face upwards to meet mine.

“There would be no other;” I confessed, in my own forlornness. My finger traced across the child’s frowning brows and the rim of his face. _How similar_ , I mused; of the way they frowned when they would look upon me in need for a Lifeworker’s enlightenment, especially when we were alone, when we were younger. “The Didact is here – the Didact is _gone_.”

It was then I saw the shock in his eyes, the disbelief and revelation of a great soul’s passing has unequivocally overwhelmed him. My hands promptly clasped his cheeks to guide his focus back to me. He must know. I must let him know. His purpose as the Didact must be guided as how I have guided my husband–

“ _You_ refused to give Faber what he needed to activate all the Contender-class ancillas. _You_ refused to give him the location of all your Shield Worlds. It is said that the Master Builder executed _you_ on the San'Shyuum quarantine planet–”

The recount was more difficult than I have expected.

I took a deep inhale to keep myself from shattering; knowing that the child would understand despite our many inferiorities and obstacles. His purpose shall be branded, just like how I have been branded.

“– _You_ are now all I have.“ I whispered; it was the true-truth. “You are all _we_ have.”

The child gave me a moment of silence, perhaps for lament. I could only imagine the weight he now has to bear – I was most certain that he has never intended to dedicate himself into such circumstance. The guilt for having second-handedly influenced an innocent’s fate was overwhelming. I shall never deserve the warmth and tenderness of my husband, even if he might insist the opposite.

“Do you hate me?” I asked finally, knowing by instinct of how he must have discovered the true mastermind behind this whole wretched scheme.

“No,” surprisingly, he shook his head.

“Is it an answer made under influence?”

That was when his attention focused on me in a solemnly keen fashion of a Warrior’s essence. I felt the unfaltering prowess and the willful determination of the old Promethean resonated through the child’s young face. It felt nearly identical – and nearly as sorrowful. Nostalgic.

“You said I am him;” he said through his grinding fangs as his embrace tightened, as if he was claiming ownership to a statement which I would attempt to contend against. “Am I not?”

“You are the Didact, but not his double,” I affirmed. “We will have to recognize the divergence. Aya–” an epiphany; “ _IsoDidact_?”

“ _IsoDidact_?”

“Because you are not his double;” I gave him a smile and cradled his confused head dearly. It was odd to see how our roles have changed on account of our physical differences. It was an enjoyable surprise, although the child would never truly be my husband, as I have decided so by his invented title. The IsoDidact deserves a better world, a brand-less world free of old adversaries and abundant of new hope.

He must be ready for it.


	2. Lifeshaper

I am not always the Lifeshaper.

The title was not bestowed to me — until centuries after the Pleiades War.

I was appointed as _the Keeper of the Terrarium of Charum Hakkor_ by the Matriarch during the Pleiades War; a title and task of which I have accepted in reluctance. By selfish desire I have yearned to strife alongside with those who protected our people and our realms. I wished to protect them as well, and to contribute effort in bringing peace once again to the warring civilizations. It didn't occur to me much later on, when I served my role in my mother's place and facing similar dilemmas of which she had faced, that I came to realization — of how the suspension abided to my being at the time was but a deliberate plan woven by her rational love. She knew what was at stake, and perhaps has evaluated the weight of many precious lives. In the end, she has decided to have her hands be stained by fire and blood, so that mine would remain in immaculacy as I became her successor.

At the Matriarch's command, I spent three hundred Hakkor solar cycles on the planet to serve as its guardian. It was a role of both substantial and metaphysical values. I guarded the integrity of our [Eden] simply by existing, to protect it from vandalisms through destruction or carnage from both Forerunner and Humanity. Though, as a daughter, I have waited for my mother's return. This lingering faith mattered little to my age and maturity: I genuinely believed that she would eventually come back home to all of us from her arbitral affairs in Maethrillian. After all, the Matriarch was the Lifeshaper of the Ecumene; she has led us, the Lifeworkers, through many centuries. I have remembered her as the one who has overseen each and every one of us with infinite love and wisdom for the greater good. I genuinely believed that she would always be there to watch over our growth and prosperity.

I genuinely believed that no one would ever dare to mean harm to my mother.

No one should.

And I was wrong.

 

* * *

 

The Warriors were dispatched in stern silence once their ships have descended unto our lair, which I have greeted them kindly as how my mother would have done. Regardless, they responded my words of hospitality with coldness. It was absurd to me, because the Warriors I have known of have always treated the Lifeworkers with a sense of honorific respect. Their commander, a Promethean whom I was unfamiliar with, informed me that the Juridicals have summoned me before the Council.

I immediately noticed the ominousness between the Commander’s lines, in which I would have expected the Matriarch to have done the summoning, instead of the Juridicials. But I chose not to question nor contend, knowing by the Warriors’ attitude that the answer I seek would not be revealed. Having no better option, I followed the Warriors to Maethrillian, leaving my caretakers and kinsmen behind in hope to take initiatives to meet my mother in our Capitol. I was too naive to have hoped that she would be the one who could give me the answers. Although in retrospect, the naivety and the flexibility that comes within it would perhaps be a temperament most appropriate.

A Catalog has been appointed to me aboard the Warrior ship. At that instant, it was clear to the circumstance which I would be facing, as the presence of the Catalog signifies an individual as a suspect under Juridical terms. In private, the Catalog has inquired many questions — most of them intriguingly trivial; there was a sense of avoidance. I inquired its origins out of curious interest, which it responded, unsurprisingly by its common mantra. It was not until much later that I have learned that the Catalog was one of the many Lifeworkers who have opposed my mother's regime centuries ago. The Lifeworker who has attempted to sabotage an entire system with his accomplices have assumed the carapace after the damage have been done. Species eradicated to harvest their genomes, an entirely different species were cultured into biomechanics. Mother has put the young and fragile creations in dormancy for many centuries more. The Galaxy was yet ready for them to live.

Upon disembarking from the Warrior vessel, I was treated in a fashion which could be described as a fallen monarch in our Capitol. I have never been to Maethrillian, and the fabricated reverence of me being the Matriarch’s daughter felt anomalous, perhaps even ironic, because regardless of bureaucratic courtesies, I was still barred from making any inquiries regarding my mother’s whereabouts. I have come across some familiar faces that I knew of from their visits to Charum Hakkor, but have become peculiarly evasive by their diverted gazes and the turns of their heads. It took little time to understand that they wished not to make contact with me. Meanwhile, the presences of Lifeworkers were not scarce in Maethrillian, but they — whom mostly were Councilors, deemed worse than those who weren't of our Rate. I have seen them often clutter and linger, gazing my presence under the grace of their shadows. Their whispers could never be heard, but have echoed from within their hearts, it felt sour, almost vicious. It made me feel uncomfortably alone amidst the living world.

Still, I remained in etiquette, which is rudimentary for my lineage and profession. The same etiquette I have managed to maintain, even it would’ve been the first time for me to have stepped into the Council's Chamber. It would be the first time for me to meet the Phylarch at his physical presence. I have long heard of him, the old Master Builder who was the Matriarch's political counterpart, a brilliant mind whose visions and ruthlessness could rival hers. Though, unlike the Matriarch, I felt neither grace nor benevolence from him, but only a strong wave of rightful suppression, as if he would always be ready to impose the mundane of his authority. 

The Catalog was my only witness, which I have noticed, in coherence, another two units have bared presence to form a Triad. I wondered whom have the other two represented, as I was the only standing testimonial. At certain aspects, I knew that it would be an interrogation, when the only experiences I have had then as a contender of eloquence were nothing but academic debates. The Juridicials examined my lineage and liaison with the Terrarium as the Phylarch intended to ploy me into the answers he wished to hear, it was a torment which tested my strength of will, where I could only mimic my mother's grace, and hoped that she – regardless to where she could be, could eventually take notice to my situation. I was determined to defend for her and all those who have worked in the Terrarium. I intended to prove our innocence, so that we could reunite one day — somewhere, anywhere.

When the Juridicals have found no direct connection between my Mother's deeds and my knowledge, they had no choice but to detain me in an estate under a constant surveillance from Warriors loyal to their caste. I have been barred from all contacts with only the Catalog to my service. Such solitary confinement seemed inhumane, but at least, it has freed me from the direct bitterness of others.

Many months were passed and I have remained generally oblivious to my mother’s fate, but the occasional minor summoning by the Juridicials for similar questions asked has gradually built up into a cohesive picture. It took me long enough to be able to confirm my mother’s fate, and even before I have learned of it, it was already too late.

 

* * *

  

The Matriarch has been sentenced into an indefinite confinement within a Cryptum.

She was accused of Treason to the Ecumene and has been branded as a heretic to the Mantle of Responsibility. Her sealing ceremony was already done, even years before I have delivered my first testimonial before the Council. They have tried to obscure it from me, and lured me with false hopes; it was not unexpected during my journey of discovery, but it was painful nevertheless, because it has given me the answer to all the questions I have wished to inquire.

The sense of betrayal by my people has made me a captive of anguish — deep within me, the intuition of never able to see my mother again was a blade that chafes on the soft of my heart. What was worse than this depression was how, despite being deeply bounded by woe and melancholy, I had to forbid myself from expressing my own grief, so that the Master Juridicial’s web of surveillance could never be able to use my sentiments against myself. All I have cherished became mere phantasmagoria built within my memories; months felt like years, and years would feel like eons worth of silent torment — the Councilors' cold eyes became eloquent harassments, their words of faked sympathy were equally poisonous as were tempting. I cared little to the lure or sublimation; in the heart for vengeance, the sweet poison failed to kill my mind. Instead, it honed my tenacity. Meanwhile, the Juridicials' investigations have eventually led them to a series of expedition reports which has recorded my discoveries to the Norma Cluster. My verbatim and textual logs, at least the ones stored within the Terrarium and the Domain, were literally unearthed and reclaimed.

I have thus been summoned into the Chamber once again to testify the equity of my knowledge and my personal ancilla before the Council. The gathering was in a particular formation known as the [Grandstanding], which all the leading members of the guilds, institutes, and factions were also summoned to bear presence with the five hundred Councilors. The Headmasters of the Biblotheca and the War College thus have also graced their presence, of whom I dared not greet in public.

The examination of my discourses was a brutally relentless process which would eventually wind down to the moment when Master Juridical proposed to rid of my ancilla by purging and cleansing all memories within it, which meant the only fate awaits me afterwards would be eternally abided as one with the Catalog. To myself, it would have been a fate worse than being exiled by the Cryptum. But to my own surprise, the Chamber then arose into a collision – mostly over the treatment’s unethicality and the social impact of such verdict. 

Amidst the contending between factions, I remember the Headmistress of the Bibliotheca was granted a moment to express her disagreement. She voiced against the Master Juridical to speak on my behalf subjectively.

"The Librarian's researches, as well as countless academic and scientific researches that have been approved by the Bibliotheca, were automatically granted their veniality according to _the 7 th Conventions of the Mantle_," said the Headmistress. "The [Grandstanding] hereby implore the Catalog to recite the Convention by its didactic genuineness."

I knew the texts well — as all scholars who represented the Bibliotheca would mandatorily. The Knowledge was our given and natural right. In narration, the _7 th Conventions_ is a set of treaties made per eradication of the Theoreticals. It strips the rights to knowledge from its pre-determined Rate, and in return, dispersed the same power to a conglomerate of recognized intellectuals of all the remaining Rates now known as the _Bibliotheca Ökumene_. Therefore, should the Juridicials deliver their sentence unto me without proper evidence, they would be abusing their power, whose expedition and researches have technically been approved by the Ecumene itself.

With her words, the relentless debate was concluded into a truce when the Phylarch would eventually grace me with an exempt, respecting the Council's majority opinion. Still, I remained as a prisoner to him and Master Juridical, which the same solitary confinement has then bound me in Maethrillian for many years more. But my stance, which I have noticed amidst the power struggles between the Councilmen and faction representatives, was in representing my original faction and allegiance. I have then conditioned myself to cultivate more time into study the subtle art of politics. It was an entirely new discipline to me, and I had no mentors, other than the memories that have been imprinted inside my mind.

The practice of recalling the imprinted memories was not unfamiliar — I have had many occasions to sudden, nostalgic epiphany graced from Those who Came Before. Still, it felt exceptionally odd to actively seek inspiration and enlightenment from one’s own meditations. Fortunately, the eldritch knowledge was generous to their successor: a question I would ask within my meditation, and the internal archive would reveal like a brightening ray of light after a heavy downpour. I have then found closure in the abundance of knowledge. In my Foremothers’ memories I could even see a few glimpses of my mother once again. It felt as if she was alive, albeit less vivid – I remember how I was taught to never chase the shadows.

I have expected my Foremothers to play pivotal roles in Forerunner politics from their words spoken. What I have discovered instead was a less-glorified version of our history taught. My Foremothers have seen through the Age of Warlords, a time which the Warriors were most glorified. The first of my Foremothers was _First-Light-of-Nascent-Ataraxia_. She was the Seer — otherwise known as the _Ariola_ in Archaic Digon. First-Light was the establisher of our Rate, whose name has long become oblivious within the Domain. Her successors have led us through myriad struggles and civil wars. Over the eons, the throne of power juggled between the Rates, which my Foremothers would eventually let go of their birthright to become mere observers instead of leaders. As been said and inspired by them – act only when needed, and act only when there are no better option other than taking actions.

At the Matriarch’s absence and the lack of external knowledge, I have convinced myself that it would be the decent moment to counter-act.

 

* * *

 

It only took little time for the Council to summon me into the Chamber for a third time, where I have been questioned explicitly for the original intents and purposes of my expedition to the Norma Cluster. I spoke of truth, by debriefing to the Councilors of the operation’s initiation as it has been requested by the Matriarch in regards to ancient Lifeworker remnants, and that my studies would've been as exactly as how they have read from the reports provided by the Bibliotheca and the records retrieved from the Domain presented during the [Grandstanding]. But none of what I could offer could fulfill their gluttony for truth. My testimonials regarding the reclaiming measures performed over ancient knowledge were apparently insufficient. I knew they were hunting — for a picture which they have painted preemptively and have intended to place me into it. I could assume that it may perhaps be of Mother’s studies that gave them the reason to accuse her for treason and heresy, but I have nothing of their needs; I was never allowed to meddle with the Lifeshaper's work — albeit it was not until then that her reasons have become clear to me.

Somehow there sparked audacity, where I inquired the Council for their relentlessness. I was then replied by the First Councilor of how it was the Matriarch’s meddling with Neural Physics that had sparked the first flame to the Pleiades War. He presented to me, as well as to the Council, a time-lapsed recording of the development of the Orion Veil, an archaic Precursor superstructure spanned across the diffused borders between the Ecumene and human territory along the Orion Sector. It has been the Matriarch's primary research subject for many centuries, which it has — by methods unknown — been converted into human defense mechanisms.

The Pleiades War was an imminent fault.

It was an inconvenient truth, but it was not out of my bitter expectation. I knew that Neural Physics was a discipline Mother has devoted nearly all her lifetime to explore and study. I knew it was the reason why she has established the Terrarium on Charum Hakkor, a place abundant of Precursor structures. I knew her passion to the Precursors’ enigmatic knowledge was a crucial reason to why she has adopted me and raised me into an antiquity befitting the contemporary. It is undoubtedly that she loves me as one out of her own flesh, at least, I still firmly believe so.

I understood that Master Juridicial’s words has proven a worse situation hypothesized – that someone has brought me to Maethrillian to treat me in such humiliating fashion. But the most humiliating part, to my rather late revelation, was that they have always intended to present me as an accomplice to my mother's alleged treason since the moment when they have delivered the Warriors to escort me from the Terrarium.

Resilience has become the only armor I bear during my captivity. I managed to keep my external grace as I refused the Council's subjugation, knowing such accusation was out of injustice. In fear of more victims to come, I severed the ties with the liaisons I have and have taken the responsibility entirely as the Keeper of the Terrarium. Although my attempts seemed futile when I was then been physically removed from the Chamber by the Warriors during my speech, I could only hope that my words could be heard. I have planted my seeds and waited for it to sprout and grow. Although in retrospect, it was not I who have triggered the chain of upcoming events that would eventually lead to my current status. Perhaps the century-long state of uncertainty and my efforts to stay alive have truly sparked some miraculous sympathy within the Council. Or, perhaps the Phylarch was too confident with his strategies on tipping over an entire Rate by murdering his political rival and her successor.

Regardless of reasons, the deeds we have chosen to commit respectively have turned the gears of karmic interference. A Synchron was then emerged to bind the fates of the Protector of the Ecumene and I. All the more so, the fate of a Warrior withal who would eventually become my husband.


	3. Wyrd

By _popular opinion_ , or so what I have heard it as: The Council has ruled it unjust to continue my detainment. I was thus been relieved from the surveillance of the Catalog, and have been relocated to another estate on an icy and lifeless planet called Wyrd. I recognized the architecture of my make-shift domicile to be of decadent Warrior style — an scenery of glory old and rare. Its classic design language has promptly triggered a sense  of relief and a stronger sense of affinitive nostalgia, for they have conjured the ancient memories succeeded from my Foremothers. Physically, I was allowed to roam within its walls freely, and I would often tread within the ruins to inspect and explore. A spacious room at the south wing of the infrastructure was made to serve as my personal chamber and studies. The few Warriors who were stationed in the parameter were gentler and have treated me with dignity. They said it has been roughly six hundred Hakkor cycles since my departure from the Terrarium. I acknowledged their sympathy, and have found myself desperately missing my old home.

The Protector has descended to Wyrd one evening and requested a private meeting with me in my studies. The Protector at the time was named Bitterness-of-the-Vanquished, one of the oldest Promethean still alive at the time and was well-acquainted to the Matriarch. I remember her since my years as a Manipular from her frequent visit to the Terrarium, and I have revered her greatly, perhaps as equally as I would for my mother, albeit I was never permitted to speak to her at her presence.

The old Promethean sat in the comfort of my studies as I took my place across hers. I could see how the Protector was undoubtedly the embodiment of the Mantle. The stance was fathomable as she took the weight of our civilization in her sole hands, and in regards to this, the air felt solemnly cold as she then leaned forward towards me, gawking. I felt wrong, sheepish, and wondered what have I done to have gained her interest.

"Silent-Mist-of-Eternal-Memories," she regarded me by my full name in a low, grave tone. To hear it from an elder Forerunner in such fashion would most likely indicate that I have done terrible mistakes enough to be stripped from my titles and dignity. "Know that you have been watched for every words you have said and every action you have taken. Yet you remained audacious. Was it oblivion? Or untamed arrogance?"

I was petrified, confused. _What have I done?_

"You have behaved differently, you were **becoming**." Said the Protector whose armor would see for her. I saw the hollowness in her sockets were replaced by facets of blue, gleaming, as if she could tear me apart by her gaze.

"......What have I done?" I forced the only inquiry I could compose into quivering words. Aya, what have I done!?

Surprisingly, she took a sigh and abruptly eased her imposing stance.

"Whose words have you spoken by?" She asked, and I felt the chill arose within my chest. "I have heard similar things before, in a time before you were born, and I do not believe that it was the Matriarch who has taught you the certain fashion of deliverance which I have observed in the Chamber."

I suppressed my gasp; she _knew_.

"I——" I paused and took in another deep breath as eon worth of memories began to race against each other, as if there was a heated conversation between the different facades. What of lies and truth? I was unsure if I could trust the Protector — Aya, centuries of mental torment has certainly tamed my heart into anguish and distrust. But it was the Protector, and I took in faith that she would have remembered me as a Manipular. I held faith beyond the initial distrust, I had faith to how here should be something inside me that I would never falter. My temperament — I have been honest, I was always honest, and of the Protector would execute me on sight, I would gladly choose to die for being honest.

Then a soft voice beckoned, a sensation within me. A memory.

"It would be inappropriate. It might cause more damage than we have now." I shook my head and confessed without the dare to meet her face. "I have no courage in this."

But the Protector reached towards me and took my clutched hand into hers. "Onward," she affirmed keenly, and at that moment I felt inspired by a spark of strength enough to force myself to swallow my hesitation. I took my hand back to clasp them in a solemn position and took a brief moment of silence — before the Creed of Seers was then refrained in Archaic Digon:

_"This, you have heard, and will be said again —— I am the [Forerunner] of Light as Umbra prospers. I [guard] and oversee the threads of Life come into existence. Its possibilities draw into wakes within the yet-become — warps and woofs woven; surface embolden; expand."_

My words ended with a low, deep breath, and then I looked up to her, whose face started to morph into sternness. She was concerned, perhaps shocked or still in denial. I knew she would.

"Is this the true-truth?" She inquired in deep quietness.

I nodded; somehow it felt painful enough to have my eyes closed briefly to the confession.

She also nodded, in a kind of solemness which I could empathize with. Her mouth opened, and then closed again in silence. Her half-masked face froze in rigidness, bound within her thoughts. I waited, likewise in silence, for her to take time to digest our situation. Finally, she gave a sigh, and words were spoken more tenderly and patiently: "I was suspecting your eloquence in the Chamber. You are clever, undoubtedly, but what I have seen in the Chamber was beyond you. This explains the hidden note — so you are indeed, the secret jewel to Her abiding."

Her cryptic words felt more like a mutter to her own realization than a statement made for me to hear. For a glimpse, it felt as if the Protector was relieved from her usual prowess, like a sudden deflation, or a great wall that turned brittle. It was a mere glimpse, before she returned to her once stern state, albeit I could sense a faint ambiance of lament or nostalgia close between us.

"I know She has never truly left." I heard the bitter-sweetness in her words.

"Mother?"

"No," the Protector shook her head. "Summer. My wife. One of your — _Foremothers_."

A quiet moment was spent, for both mourning and reflection, on both and respective ends. We lamented, in silence, over the ones who have came and have long departed. The moment was longer than the one we had before, albeit a warmer one felt. The old Promethean then smoothly reached to the soft of my bare cheek to cup it into her palms. But I remained in unresponsive stillness, knowing she would be touching an apparition that would have haunted her for millennia. It was her desire — unspoken and bitter. For Splendid-Wind-of-Eternal-Summer, the one whom the Protector loved, was vanquished soon after the civil wars.

"Now that the true-truth is revealed, you certainly hold visual resemblance to her."

"I have no knowledge of her as myself;" I replied sadly and apologetic; "I am not her double...... she is here and not here."

 "Aya." She nodded, withdrawing her palm away. "I know."

"Protetcor......" I muttered, feeling the necessity to tell her another true-truth; "I have personally taken a detour during the expedition to the Norma Cluster to visit the Pylon of Tenebreth oversaw by the supernovae of Kul'judon, and deliberately, at the alignment of the Eight."

Her face lit up despite the persistent gloom; "Was it still splendorous, as how my wife has seen before?"

I nodded. "I hope it does not offend you, Protector. I have wished to visit there by my own will; I wanted to honor them — to those whom we have lost. They deserved to be remembered. I wish to have them live in my memories as truthful as their lives lived."

Swift yet rewarding, she responded with a glimpse of her gentler expression to me; "Aya, how much you sound like a Warrior, but are you truly willing to fight to overcome the ultimate injustice imposed on your people?"

Her words beckoned for my alertness; "I implore for clarification?"

"The Phylarch intended to annex your entire Rate. You have noticed it, have you not?"

"Aya...... but would he truly dare to?" My response was not delivered without sarcasm.

"Dare? The Phylarch would dare for more," replied the Protector with a swift sneer. "Your mother had just enough dare to contain his greed over power, but now that she is gone......"

"What be the Lifeworkers in the Terrarium? Are they alright? Who do they heed to at the moment?"

 "Most of them whom I know of strive to maintain usual routines. But now without a Lifeshaper, most seems impending, if not stricken, especially for those who have served in the Terrarium." She shifted the weight of her torso to the other side. "You have witness it yourself during the [Grandstanding]. The Bibliotheca is surely unpleased by your unnoticed arrest, and how the Council's accusation on you has been built by nothing but persecutory delusions. If the Master Builder assumes he can dilute an entire Rate based on this new agony of the Ecumene, then he would be too optimistic. At least, it would be foolish to assume the case of the Theoreticals be retroactive…...”

“It is but similar,” I admitted bitterly. “He has already had my mother.”

“But he couldn’t get to you, Librarian,” she affirmed, almost sounding as if she was seeing an imminent victory. “Your speech in the Chamber has rallied more to your cause than you would have expected. The Lifeworkers are petitioning for your succession, now combined with the Bibliotheca and their – pantheon of scholars, from every Rate. Speaking of non-combatants; the Headmaster of the War College has authorized his signature as well. He, and few of our strategists, have sponsored with many others as a collective benefactor. Aya, you should acknowledge the favor, for he was the one who got you on parole, and have placed you in his ancestral estate — I would say it is quite privileged, for one who is out of political favor.”

She paused, and shook her head. I noticed how the light of triumph glistened in her eyes, and began to worry if she implied that I was more influential than she, the venerable Protector; the leader of the Warrior Rate.

"Why would the Headmaster be willing to take such actions?" I asked humbly.

"He said it is rare to see honor from someone out of our Rate," the Protector replied; "and unlike those been born into us, your honor is thus untrained, innate. You attain nobility, a feat to rally spirit and heart; it is made to be something superior to plain sense of honor or duty."

"I have yet done anything honorific, Protector."

"You have." She affirmed, and it felt absolute. I remember her eyes – how the hollow, cybernetic sockets hidden beneath her armor somehow felt warm and approving. "You have refused to pull your expedition crew into this mess and have cut your liaisons by assuming full responsibility when the Council was in fact intended to bring Inquisition down to any of your liaison. Remember, those bodyguards at your service then were Warriors who now still serve under my command. They should be mine to protect and preserve. But you, a rank-less Lifeworker, sought to take similar responsibility because you have once been their commissioner. That is honor. Audacious, but still honorific."

I sighed, being too weary to argue, while she let go of my hand to have me secluded in my own recollections.

“What be your next step, Librarian? I don't suppose you have enough weight to put yourself though this game alone."

She was right.

"Protector—" I took in a deep breath, and felt the frown on my brows. I looked straight towards her armored sockets, knowing how she would be seeing me to the marrow of my soul with her mechanical keenness as she would always have. "I want to protect more than just my crew and colleagues. I wish to help my people. I want to wash the name of heresy from our Rate, but I need someone to get me through the Phylarch and his Inquisition. I need—"

I sighed and halted my words.

"You need allies.” The Protector voiced my mind and gave me an expression much like a subtle sneer. “Aya, modest and aspiring as you are, Librarian, I thought you were less ambitious than your mother. You have amused me — not yet of yourself, that is."

"Aya." I admitted defeatedly, knowing how her assessment was correct in its somberness, still, I felt in relief to her words spoken, as the Protector now genuinely began to assume her role as my political ally. I intended to bring compromise within the short meeting. So I chose to honor her opinion by delivering myself in equal thoughtfulness, when my heart has reached tranquility once again and could strive for nobility:

“My Foremothers have vowed to cease their meddling with the Chamber's affairs when the Theoreticals were dismantled. We mourn...... seeing our people have condemned ourselves into eternal loss by trading our precious legacies for political and diplomatic ascendency. Knowledge should never be tainted by lust of power, and I fear that I might betray this vow if I become the Lifeshaper. Still...... I wish to influence, I need to earn my Rate a place they deserve, where they will never have to fear disembodiment, which I also wish this could be achieved through a strife-less arbitration. I agree with you, Protector, the Ecumene cannot risk another civil dispute. Above that, I was never been chosen to repeat the mistake of our ancestors. My knowledge serve a higher purpose than the Ecumene itself. Without the Theoreticals, I am its last guardian. I must live. The knowledge I hold must not be assimilated into oblivion.”

She remained adequately supportive, and leaned in to bade me to look into her eyes while she rebuked my statement with neutral criticism:

"You are the embodiment of something that could shatter the foundation to this very Ecumene of which I have sworn to protect. For the short years of my union with my wife, I have been a keeper to her secrets; even after her passing, despite that I didn’t know who her successor would be. Now, half of the Council is sympathetic for you as a scholar of the Bibliotheca, even if they would deem your mother’s actions as heretic. The Phylarch would most likely have you silenced somehow if we continue to stall him, and my Warriors, abridged by the War, are weak in both numbers and voices. Even so, I would choose to support for your cause. The outcome of this ongoing petition is still unpredictable – no matter how much you'd wish to prove your worth, your lineage must be kept unknown for now. Thus I do not see any chance of success should a leader-less Rate, led by a young Lifeworker like you, chooses to stand against the Phylarch. You need something more substantial, more practical and simple for the common people of our Ecumene to comprehend and relate. Worst case, if this measure still deems unsuccessful, I fear it might risk an untimely debut to your true role and purpose.”

I stood up and began pacing around as I started to illustrate my streams of thought with usual hand gestures. Conspiring plans with an intellectual colleague always felt rejuvenating, it brought back pleasing and inspiring memories. It was as if the torments of being a prisoner have never dulled my principality, and the eloquence felt nearly tenacious as I spoke of my own perceptions of the situation:

"I never intended to polarize our politics, Protector, though I am aware how the Matriarch has countered the Phylarch in harmonious rivalry. Now with her passing, you know that harmony is devastated. I can somehow foresee — that in due time, there can be a struggle happening both internally and externally, and the destructive purpose of Warriors will lose its favor to the creative purpose of Builders at the Mantle's arbitration; now, to pave ourselves against such fate, I would propose a kindred alliance between the rest of us. It would be necessary should we seek to rebalance ourselves in countering the Builders' influence...... As to my personal and selfish consideration, I cannot possibly waste time by inactivity, especially if the Headmaster has already gone this far into risking himself to support my welfare.”

“A kindred alliance?” She echoed.

“A kindred alliance.” I affirmed.

"Aya—" she agreed, with an intriguingly thoughtful sigh she has taken herself up to her feet as well to stride towards me. Her face literally lit up in brilliance mixed by joy and mischievous enlightenment:

"A betrothal, you mean?”

My elaborate thought streams of delivering nobility were then shattered into countless of irreversible pieces. I must've been petrified at my stance when my mind turned into a blank, for that fine, sneering curve was once again hanging over the Protector's lips.

"......What do you implicate exactly, Protector?" I asked in defiance as an attempt to hold up my pettily remaining grace.

"I am proposing an exchange of resources beneficial for both sides of our people by optimizing your potential, when I can simply subdue you into our Rate.”

I remained in reluctant silent, seeing almost the after wake of that ghostly smirk from her unmoving lips. “But...... a betrothal requires another individual, who has no reason to be brought into our affairs or my selfish wishes. One’s life and his future should not be abused for the means of our personal gain—" I shook my head to halt my words, knowing it would be too weak for an argument to a Promethean like she. "—Especially not for mine.”

But the Protector merely took my hands into her palm once again, as if she would be weighing it, or it could be a Warrior's gesture to express reassurance.

“Aya, much alike my wife, who, even in turmoil of self-risk, was still concerned for others." She commented, with a sense of nostalgia. Then she brought my face up to hers, and delivered her words as if it was an affirmation, or an approval to an alliance. "I promise you of loyal company, Librarian, as you tread the lone path to become an exemplar to your Rate. The Warriors have seen your growth and your determination. The message has been delivered; and when you are ready, my associates will visit once again.”


	4. Eternal Summer

The Protector left for her cause, with an indefinite promise of the so-called betrothal. The pact felt unordinary, peculiar, but not of negative effect — I began to have visitors within two or three lunar cycles. Lifeworkers who were once my close attendants and colleagues were permitted to come by after going through a 'rigid chain of commands and ruthless process of screening' according to their words. But they insisted that it was worth the turmoil, and I could only accept and respect.

It was during this phase of my imprisonment that I could finally be reunited with Calyx at last who was my caretaker since my youngest days. As one who knew me personally, she has brought me an array of sentimental objects of my likings, including a few of my favorite books, and more blissfully, a relatively portable climate regulating dome which the Lifeworker would use for smaller-scale experiments. The dome was sufficient enough to raise a garden within our frigid walls, which was gladly received — Wyrd was truly barren, and most of our supplies have relied on occasional privileged shipments.

Calyx somehow managed to stay, assuming herself as a caretaker who she always was. She looked forward to another mutation process, to elevate me into a third-form, although we both knew that would not happen until a resolution to my situation could be found.

Meanwhile, we have decided to plant a few edible species in our gardening dome which has been installed in the domicile's atrium. Wyrd was still cold, yet the old Warrior domicile became more peaceful. The planet's terrain was no longer graced by warming seasons, but its soil proved to still hold potential to fertility if given a chance. Eventually the garden was cultivated enough to feed the both of us, and we have gladly shared the rest with our guardsmen. It felt simple, yet accomplishing, for I simply wished to be sustainable once again, to bear life within my hands, and to feel earth with my skin. Time merely passed in tranquility while the garden prospered by our care, where my creativity and serenity could bear its fruit through the grace of nature. The Protector has ceased making direct communication, but her messengers would deliver news infrequently, mostly on happenings of other civilizations throughout her territories. It seemed as if the conversation we have made has never happened; I never dared to reopen the case.

Calyx has also refrained herself from inquiring the Protector’s intent of the made pact for years to come, until she finally broke her temperance on a fine, summer-like day, when we were out picking berries to be preserved into treats for ourselves and the Warriors.

"The betrothal—" she started, in an abrupt, hesitant manner; a rare thing from an old Lifeworker like she: "I heard you were willing to be wedded into the Warriors, to cleanse the name of our Rate?"

"It was a decision made not entirely out of my plan," I confessed with suppressed weariness; "I would've propose something nobler than pacts...... made as unsophisticated as this. I find it...... particularly unfair, for the one whom shall heed the Protector's order to fulfill this bond. What if...... he had never wished to wed a Lifeworker?"

"If your Warrior husband treats you indecently, then a civil war will truly start," she commented in slight sourness, nipping off a fruit from its twig with a rather crude yank. "I hope the Protector keeps good faith to her words by selecting her candidate wisely."

"Aya."

I refused to make more opinions to the subject, knowing keenly to the reason of my reluctance in subduing myself into the Protector's regime, but Calyx saw more into the subject of interest.

"Have you spoken with the Didact about it?"

I responded with a bewildered stare. "Calyx, he has decided to wed one from his own Rate. Perhaps he has already had." I replied quietly; "You knew our friendship is of respect. You knew he has another of his desire."

I saw the older Lifeworker's gazes lowered with a pause in her own silent contemplation. Aya, I have expressed a forbidden forlornness.

"I am merely concerned, of how he had never taken any mentioning, or actions — I feel the irreverence from inaction, aya, are you not his friend?"

"I believe he has his reasons. Any ordinary Forerunner would draw their lines with a heretic."

"You are no heretic." She reprimanded bitterly; "and I thought he would be less than ordinary."

My childhood friend was certainly more than ordinary, and I would have never doubted it. But at the time, I believed it would have been much better for our friendship to end as natural as possible. Circumstances simply forbid us to remain as we are, and I have decided to live with what the Living Time has given me. I suddenly find myself missing my mother greatly; I wondered — if she would have been willing to give up her daughter to another Rate, even if it would seem necessary to preserve peace and harmony.

"I am all that was left," I said, finally, by composing my swallowed sorrow into comprehensible words.

"Are you questioning your Mantle of Possibilities, youngling?" asked Calyx. "Aya, you live, and thus its key belong to you. Life is precious, it graces us an abundance of potentials while those who have departed would return it to the Living Time. You know the cycle of Life whirrs relentlessly. Its cruelty and creativity is perfectly harmonious. You were meant to be the warden of its virtue, you were chosen."

"But am I grasping onto an ideal that may never become reality, Calyx? Am I not abusing my birthright for selfishness?" I asked, and felt the subtle disruption. I recognized it as rage as it burned, bright in its violent brilliance, fueled from the sense of injustice that had murdered my mother. I raged against the imprinted knowledge of countless Foremothers held within me — billions of years’ worth of infinite knowledge and wisdom, deemed for goodness and meant to guide all living things towards a better future. Yet none of it could bend the fate of the only soul who has taken up the weight as the pillar of our Rate, all on her own. I couldn’t have saved my mother. It has become a fact, a part of truth of my insufficiency.

I still believed that my mother could've lived and be ever sustaining our prosperity. She should've lived. How dare she could believe that her sole sacrifice would've saved us all? And if the Phylarch has managed to bring her down with such humiliation, could my efforts be in vain as well?

How could I dare say that I could save my people?

Where have I gotten the audacity to make such claim?

The thoughts whirred into a nadir of darkness before my visions. The only memory clear enough for me to recall was seeing how my caretaker has rushed to me and clasped my cheeks with her bare palms. I inhaled, feeling as if her hands were embalmed by the essence of _Summer_.

The eternal, sweet summer.

"Mist," her soft voice beckoned my mind. "All that live will die eventually. Life embraces mortality to let room to new Lives so that Possibilities can spark and prosper. Your mother's sacrifice is not in vain should you live and carry her legacy, as how you would have as the Ariola."

"But what am I — a _**living monument**_?” I retorted, feeling the unrelenting remorse rose from my heart once again. “Am I a Librarian of archaic memories, live to preserve an image of mythical vanity? These memories — these knowledge, what does it serve, if it **couldn't** have saved her? What if it **cannot** save you, and all of us?"

"The Matriarch did not raise you to ensure her immortality, youngling. One who assumes Immortality shall never become eternal." She avowed, like a female elder. At that moment I was almost convinced that she might be older than all my imprinted memories combined. I looked up to her, recognizing the light in her eyes were from her wisdom — the kind of wisdom different from mine, the kind of wisdom which was gained by physically living through her own Stewardship to the Living Time and enduring through all trials that have given by it.

I remember her green eyes glistened like the clearest pool of our Gardens as her voice echoed in a firm, kindred tone:

"You are _Ariola_ , the Seer, the Stewardess of the Living Time. You will challenge its ancient Conspirators and liberate us from the Karmic destiny They have imposed on our kind. In this Life, you are Silent-Mist-of-Eternal-Memories. The Mist whom I knew of was a resourceful and opportunistic Manipular, born to challenge my sanity with vulgar troubles and outrageous misdemeanors. She then became the Librarian, one of the most prestigious scholars of the Bibliotheca and has taught many outside her Rate. One day, she will become the Lifeshaper to inspire us even further. Should her husband dare to disgrace her significance, be it a Warrior or a Promethean, he will face the rare wrath of her entire kinsmen."

To her words, I felt my inner rage soured into a painful force. I intended to challenge her statements, but none could be said. All that was me has shattered into drops of tears fallen, to seep in between the small capacity of her palms and my cheeks.


	5. Snow-Lit

The sapphire glory of a slip-space rupture below atmosphere was always a rare sight during peacetime. I have lived amidst wars of lower tier civilizations as a scholar studying their relations, but Forerunner warring technology remained something unfamiliar and unacquainted.

I remember it in lucid visual memory, of the odd yet signifying, fractal patterns of clouds when they would soon be ripped apart into nothingness just moments before the rupture has occurred. I remember how the Warriors stationed around my domicile cried in their warlike stances. Their artilleries rose against the skies for the imminent challenge.

A female Warrior, _Rise-of-Storms_ , whom I have grew acquainted with during my stay, has alerted me to take shelter. I did not heed; instead, I stood at the threshold of our domicile and watched as the silver plumes of a War Sphinx drew out from the void of light, then soared itself across the atmosphere right above our lair in an uncannily graceful fashion of maneuver. Its mechanical screech was an intimidation factor sounded mesmerizingly foreboding. But the Warriors promptly followed, leaping and dashing across the walls and infrastructures like a pack of predators on a massive hunt. The battle construct's plumes took a few hit from their weapons before it has taken another sharp steer to subdue them with its multiple sequences of shockwaves. I saw the face of the Sphinx and felt the impression which beckoned my ultimate mortality.

Calyx embraced me from my side with the intention to shield me from the death blow should the Sphinx take further action. But its pilot then leaped off from his abruptly opened cockpit and proceeded towards me in an exhilarated eagerness once he has made contact to our earth. "Librarian!" Exclaimed the pilot, whose voice sounded even louder than the strumming engines. His approach was however halted abruptly by a ray of plasma landed fluently between him and I. Storms soon returned to my side, she who was an established third-form, now became the last barrier between myself and the intruder.

I recognized our unwelcomed guest. Alas, my childhood friend remained his stance and essences despite the long separation and loss of connection. But I cannot risk easing my external poise — the guards were still on post and within sight, their stances in alert to the intruder who is one of their kind.

"Didact," I greeted him.

"I bring greetings from the Protector." He has likewise retained his demeanor.

"Was it for the _pact_?" I asked, formally as I would be.

"Yes."

I could hear Calyx's gasp in glee.

"Should we trust him?" asked Storms who remained defensively skeptical. "I have received no order from the Protector."

"I understand that you have not," I replied. "I know my place, Storms, as one who survives at the Protector's mercy, just as how I know that you are allowed to perform execution measure on me should her mercy no longer prevails. I acknowledge the possibility for the Protector may have instead concluded that I do not deserve a promise. Alas, the Didact is the Protector's apprentice, who is now here, and I believe he deserves some right to speak for his own urgency. If his cause is unjust, I expect to see you to fulfill your task with loyalty and continue to serve the Ecumene."

Storms hoisted her weapon, a fortunate decision. "We recognize you, Promethean."

 

* * *

 

The formal reunion with my old friend was brief, albeit Calyx has taken much effort to make him stay, and more effort to convince our guards to give us the privacy. During which the messengers came as an untimely coincidence; it seemed that the Protector has decided her candidate. It was not the Didact, and he knew — it was the sole reason for him to have made such haste, albeit his initiatives and effort still have failed to convince me conveniently.

"Why, Didact?" I challenged him calmly, knowing there could be an answer that I might never expect. "You know what I am; I am not worthy of risking your lineage and the Protector has acknowledged that. Of all audacious things I have encouraged you, this I cannot. It does not worth your life, at all. You must return to your people at this moment."

"No."

"You are putting your family at risk!" I raised my voice in anguish; "What of your bevowed? I — she did not deserve to be treated with such...... **_betrayal_** , you are doing her a disservice by making such choice."

"Librarian—"

There was a sigh at the end of his call, it beckoned, and I have likewise noticed my misdemeanor. In meekness, I then focused myself on his face, and found it has let down from its defenses to reveal an obscured hurt.

"Do you want to know the true-truth?" He asked, it was sincere. I nodded.

"There was a rift between Endurance and I, a difference of expectations. She knew me as a Warrior and I would have been content in my role, but you saw more — I saw more."

I frowned in question to his words and he elaborated further. I remember his six-digit hands began to sway in persuasive gestures; I knew he was reenacting the concurrent time-frames within his perception.

"At first it was only a thought — a determination to end the war in due time, then it festered. There was always a glimpse of you within the calculation of my multiple thought streams. I knew the Lifeshaper has kept you on Charum Hakkor to guard over her creations and that you are within a territory now belongs to humans. I saw the scorched earths of countless planets and imagined how you would have prevented those worlds from such mishap. I saw in the eyes of the indigenous species and noticed there was a universal _fear_ in their soul — many of those we have encountered centuries before. Then -- I came to realization, to the magnificence of your work. I found echoes of your essence in those fleeting lives while you were afar, and there grew...... nostalgia. I miss the short years we've spent together when we were young. It became admiration." He admitted after a long pause. "I finally understood why you have been invited to the War College to teach."

"A late revelation, Didact." I remained in eloquence; "That still cannot explain why you are here."

"The disagreement between Endurance and I has grown during the end of the war." He sighed; "It became clear to me that she needs a husband who could lead unfalteringly. She needs a superior, of visions and ideals — that expectation is destined in my bloodline, I am one born to fight for the Mantle, but when I needed the ethics to sustain my belief, you were the one who have provided that and have inspired me to be a Warrior, as who I am now. Aya, I have failed to realize this and thus...... could not tell her in time......."

"Condolences. Her love for you was pure and unfaltering."

"She demanded a choice. I have chosen. Abandoning you would be abandoning the Life which you live to protect."

"But I am merely......" I halted my words, and turned to inquire with calculated conservativeness. "But has the Protector never made more mentioning to what has happened in the Chamber, even after all the things that you were allowed to see?"

"— _Some_ , but not all."

I peered speculatively towards his bare face.

"She said a portion of what you are is not you; you are a consolidation of knowledge, memories." He blinked, and I could tell how he was attempting to rationalize a concept that is obviously out of his ethics. "The Protector has implicated that you have inherited part of the Lifeshaper's knowledge, set to be resurged after her passing -- at least, that is what I have interpreted it as, otherwise it would never make sense for the Council to take themselves on you. You were merely so...... irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?"

"Aya," he nodded; "You are different from the Matriarch, by all aspects. But you were still admirable, even when the weight and legacy that she has made you to carry is through methods _unnatural_ and _unjust_."

I gave the Didact a smile, a sad one; his ignorant sympathy is as innocent as his loyalty and felt dilemmatic to me. I studied his expression and posture, wondering — if this is the one who I would wed, this Promethean who has chosen to befriend me since our youth, and now, chosen me once again to share his future with before I have made peace between my rationality and desire—

"What are you thinking, Librarian?" He broke my train of thoughts by his sharp intuition.

I shook my head. "Irrelevance."

"Nothing is irrelevant when that expression surfaces onto your face."

I gave my old friend a soft glare out of defiance, but that was futile. His right hand breezed through my left cheek, a gesture of expressing intimate affection. I took in a cooled inhale in reflex, baffled, more so that I have forgotten the _proper_ way to react towards his bluntness — I should have pushed his hand away, but I knew my palms have betrayed me. Aya, I knew my intuition has taken over, how my personal desire has directed my fingers to lock against his hand, to hold his touch closer against my face. The warmth was sinful, as well as the silent empathy which I have yearned for so long.

He then shielded me into his embrace.

"Accept, if you may;" whispered the Didact, who tried to ease my shivering. It felt unforgivably cold, perhaps it was from my guilt, or self-remorse, but he was there, and his words refrained into a chanting fortification; "I was not fast enough. I have failed to respond by a timely manner and it has brought you too much unnecessary anguish."

"Your War Sphinx is fast."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"You want to say that you are actually a hundred years late?" I brought my face up to meet his once again, who has released me from his encircling. We stood face to face, as close friends who have finally confided to our belated sentiments for the very first time.

"A thousand, to be modest," He replied. "And if I would just bash into the Capitol to get you, albeit it would be the most insensible to your situation."

"Most truely. Your Mantle would forbid you; I would forbid you."

"Our trials were respective when mine was far more insignificant than what you have faced. After I have parted with Endurance, I only wish for closure, a confluence. I embraced the trial of temperance for the right time to act -- but the opportunity did not surface until your speech has been made and have stirred the hearts of even the most rigid of Warriors. The Protector has waited long enough to see it as a decisive moment. Strategic fashionings; to always strike at the proper second. Indeed, temperance. So now I am here, by my own decision and calculation. I heed to my desire and have taken the dare."

"Then, has the Protector learned of your operation?"

"Would you wish to know?" He asked, and let out a palm towards me. I placed my hand and he grasped it with certainty. Within moments, the connection has been established. I as a Lifeworker was welcomed by the local networks of his attendants. I could soon sense the Protector's presence within the shining currents. I wanted to believe it was all part of her scheme.

The Didact led me on a walk along the snow-lit corridor as we arbitrated within the Warrior network as one, on the behalf of both Warriors and Lifeworkers. Physically, he wished to visit the atrium where I have housed all of my creations. I knew, for our minds are now in harmony.

"Do you enjoy living in a Warrior domicile like this one?" He asked; I remember the way how he has unsheathed the gauntlet of his other hand to feel the surface of the vintage walls as we walked around the argent-colored atrium.

"Yes," I nodded; "But I think it deserves a wider garden, a more dedicated one, if viable."


End file.
